


Tables Turned (Not As If You've Noticed)

by VanillaIcing



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Belly Kink, I'm so sorry for this one, M/M, Stuffing, stuffing kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-10 23:01:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12309681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VanillaIcing/pseuds/VanillaIcing
Summary: Patrick spills the contents of the bags onto the counter, perusing his purchases with a skeptical eye, unsure if this is too much or too little, because he's a little too used to being on thereceivingend of this, and he can't say he knows quite what he's doing. It's not like he doesn't enjoy that—god, he does—but he's also starting to think that now is time to give Joe a little taste of what it's like. Pun intended.





	Tables Turned (Not As If You've Noticed)

**Author's Note:**

> HERE'S YOUR DAMN WARNING: THIS IS A STUFFING KINK FIC, AND IF YOU AINT INTO THAT, YOU'RE GONNA WANNA TURN BACK. 
> 
> That being said, hey! I'm back! This one is ... uh, slightly worse than my last. But it's nothing compared to the third one in my drafts so ... guess you'll just have to wait and see. 
> 
> And here's your friendly reminder that if you're into this shit, my friend and I run a FOB stuffing kink blog. You can find us at @stuffedfob on Tumblr. 
> 
> Take your fucking sin. Take it.

Patrick returns home from the store at precisely nine in the morning, physically loaded down with bags and mentally loaded down with an idea that's quite possibly just crazy enough to work. 

"Hey babe!" he calls into the living room, strolling straight into the kitchen and dropping his armful onto the counter, pretending as best as he can that he's actually putting any of this away. He's not—that would imply that he's saving all this for later, which he isn't. He's saving it for right now. 

It's not like Joe would notice he isn't putting any of this away, anyway. No, Patrick's boyfriend is too absorbed in whatever is on his computer screen to pay any attention to what Patrick's up to. And that's exactly what Patrick is going to take advantage of. 

See, here's the thing—it's a "work day" for Joe, one of those days where he sits at the table with his laptop all day and pretends to actually get shit done, and often doesn't notice a single thing happening around him. And Patrick, who only feels vaguely terrible about this, is about to exploit that to high heaven. 

Patrick spills the contents of the bags onto the counter, perusing his purchases with a skeptical eye, unsure if this is too much or too little, because he's a little too used to being on the _receiving_ end of this, and he can't say he knows quite what he's doing. It's not like he doesn't enjoy that—god, he does—but he's also starting to think that now is time to give Joe a little taste of what it's like. Pun intended. 

Patrick snags a huge bag of barbecue chips, sort of a test run. He opens the bag, casually strolls into the living room, and hands the bag to Joe, who is hunched over his computer and doesn't even respond when Patrick says, "Hey, hon, got you a snack. Don't want you getting too caught up in work, hm?" Joe just accepts the chips without hesitation and sticks a hand into the bag. Patrick has to hold back a self-satisfied smirk. This is too fucking easy. 

Patrick retreats to the kitchen, looking over the pile of food once again. It's possible it's too much, but it's also possible that isn't really a problem—they'll use it at some point later, won't they? Patrick laughs a little at the thought, quieting himself quickly to make sure Joe doesn't notice anything off. Of course he doesn't, though. When Patrick looks up to make sure Joe hasn't made note of any weirdness, he's not surprised to see that his boyfriend is still just staring blankly at the screen, occasionally frowning and typing something quickly before deleting and frowning again. He _is_ surprised to see the chip bag discarded on the couch—is that already empty? Jesus, this is _way_ too easy. 

Patrick sighs and quietly steps into the living room again, checking and finding that the bag is, in fact, empty. Joe _really_ isn't paying attention to what he's doing. And that's good news for Patrick. 

Patrick grabs the garbage and presses a quick kiss to Joe's cheek, a congratulations that Joe won't understand, and gets nothing but a quiet, cheerful hum in return. Patrick quickly heads back to the kitchen and throws away the bag, examining his groceries for what he should hand over next. After a moment he selects a huge cinnamon roll—go big or go home, right? Besides, it's like another test. If Joe doesn't catch on when Patrick hands him _this_ , then anything's fair game. 

And he doesn't—Patrick hands him a fork and a plate with the massive treat on it and murmurs his same spiel about not getting too caught up in work, even though that's exactly what he's counting on Joe doing, and Joe just nods distractedly and sets to work on this next item, too. This is getting ridiculous. Patrick didn't expect this plan to actually _work_ , and yet here it is, working, and better than he could've ever hoped. 

Patrick dashes into the kitchen to search for the next snack, knowing he doesn't have much time if he wants to contest with Joe's ridiculously quick distracted eating pace. He grabs a bag of beef jerky and carries it over, amazed to see that Joe is busy eating the last bite of the cinnamon roll already. This is working better than Patrick ever could've hoped in his wildest dreams. It's amazing, really, in both the best and the worst way possible. 

Patrick takes the plate and fork and slips the bag of jerky into Joe's hand, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek again and turning away without saying anything this time. Joe resumes snacking immediately, not even seeming to notice that his food has been switched out. He stares blankly at his screen and alternates between typing in short bursts and putting another piece of jerky into his mouth. Patrick has to force himself to look at the snacks still left on the counter rather than at his boyfriend. He'd never quite understood what about this benefitted the other person, the one who was feeding rather but being fed, but fuck if he doesn't get it now. 

Patrick can't quite decide what to go for next, but luckily when he looks up he finds that Joe isn't quite done yet anyway. After another quick scan, Patrick chooses a bag of cheddar popcorn as his next offering. There's really no rhyme or reason for his decisions, but he doesn't care. As long as it's food, it's gonna work. 

By the time Patrick has the popcorn bag open and is back in the living room, Joe has long since discarded the jerky bag and is hunched back over his computer again. Patrick hands him the popcorn without a single word or gesture, and he's no longer surprised when Joe starts at it without hesitation. Patrick just grabs the empty jerky bag and quickly turns away, pretending he doesn't notice the fact that a couple crumbs from the cinnamon roll are still stuck on Joe's lips. _Jesus._

Patrick hurries back to the kitchen, now with a goal in mind. He scans his selection for what could be considered the messiest option—the real answer is a single slice of chocolate cake, but that seems more like something to save for last, so instead Patrick takes the close second of a box of Cheez-Its. His logic is that these are still gonna make crumbs, and god, he can't lie—the cinnamon roll crumbs looked _very_ nice casually adorning Joe's mouth like that. 

He pops open the box and carries it over to Joe, pushing it into his boyfriend's hands at the same time he takes back the empty popcorn bag. This is getting ridiculous—how is Joe demolishing this shit so quickly? Patrick's eyes flick briefly downwards, and he can't say he isn't pleased to notice that at this point, the curve of Joe's stomach is definitely more obvious than it was thirty minutes ago. Patrick forces his eyes away and carries the empty bag bag to the kitchen, tossing it and going for the next snack. 

After a couple minutes, he brings back a container of mini brownies, deciding it's time for something sweeter. He switches the plastic container for the previous, now empty, box, eyes widening when he realizes his Cheez-It ploy had worked, evidenced by the tiny orange crumbs clinging to Joe's face in a couple places. Holy fuck, Patrick is terrible. But holy fuck, he is so into this. 

He sits down next to Joe for a moment, amazed that his boyfriend hasn't even noticed anything yet, and wonders if he could get away with a tiny bit more. Cautiously, he wraps an arm loosely around Joe's midsection, pressing a firm hand against his still-growing belly, where what was once a loose-fitting shirt is now clinging in a way it definitely wasn't before. Joe doesn't notice, still shoving the tiny desserts into his mouth without hesitation, eyes still glued to his laptop. Patrick could die right fucking now. 

He peels himself away, and resumes his work. 

Patrick rotates through a collection of extremely random things—another bag of chips, a container of those tiny crunchy chocolate chip cookies, fruit-flavored gummies, pretzel sticks—and watches with poorly hidden satisfaction as Joe's stomach pushes out and his shirt fits worse and worse to the point where it begins to ride up, exposing a strip of skin, and Patrick decides his work here is done. It's time to go for the cake. 

He carries it out on the same plate he'd put the cinnamon roll on, with the same fork, and hands it to Joe, collecting the container of his last contribution. He sits down on the couch and watches as Joe starts on the sugary dessert immediately, completely oblivious to what he's doing—and more importantly, to what Patrick's done. Patrick nestles into his boyfriend's side and presses a warm kiss into the crook of his neck, chuckling and murmuring, "You're gonna hate me for this."

Joe doesn't even respond, just continues. Before long, he's finished the cake too, and Patrick takes the plate without so much as a sound from Joe, stopping to marvel at what he's done. 

Joe's wearing his "work day comfort clothes", which used to be a loose t-shirt and baggy sweatpants, but now barely fit. The t-shirt refuses to even go over Joe's stomach, instead bunched up above it, and the sweatpants now seem tight and uncomfortable—holy shit, that's gonna leave a mark. Patrick pretends the thought isn't enticing. 

He picks himself up, throws away the garbage and slides the plate into the dishwasher, then calls coyly from the kitchen, "Hey, babe, could you help me with something?"

Joe's head snaps up at the sound of Patrick's call—if there's one thing that will get Joe to stop working, it's Patrick asking for help. "Yeah, sure!" he calls back, shutting his laptop and standing up. 

Patrick can't hold back an idiotic smirk as Joe freezes, realizing something's off. He blinks, then looks down, and groans. "Holy shit— _Patrick_ , what the fuck!"

Patrick blinks innocently and leans forward, setting his elbow on the kitchen counter and propping his head up in his hands. "What?"

Joe cocks an eyebrow, looking back up to Patrick. He doesn't get pissed, doesn't scold Patrick for this, just asks, "Jesus, Patrick, when the fuck did you manage this?"

"You were busy working," Patrick answers truthfully, giving a weak shrug. "You've done this to me so many times...just thought I'd return the favor. Maybe show you exactly why I enjoy it so much, hm?"

Joe looks like he wants to be mad, but he can't, and Patrick knows why, because he knows the look on Joe's face, knows it because it's been on his own face too many times to count. He _knows_ Joe is enjoying this, and he also knows he isn't about to admit it. 

Patrick strolls out from the kitchen, joining his boyfriend in the living room. Joe tries futilely to pull his shirt down, but it just slides right back up—fuck, had Patrick really given him _that_ much? He hadn't even noticed. And obviously, neither had Joe. 

Patrick closes the distance between them, grabbing Joe by the shoulders and pulling him in for a heated kiss, savoring the sweet taste of chocolate icing on Joe's lips. He pulls back and chuckles, lower and darker than he'd meant for it to be, but he doesn't care. 

"Holy fuck, Patrick, I—" Joe groans, squeezing his eyes shut. His cheeks are flushed and one arm has instinctively moved to cradle his stomach. Patrick's eyes drift down again, unable to ignore the image of Joe's shirt flush to his skin, the waistband of his sweatpants digging into his sides—fucking hell, Patrick hopes they can do this again sometime, this is _amazing_. 

Patrick looks Joe over once more, then finds himself smirking again as an idea forms. "Hey," he says, wrapping an arm around Joe and pushing a hand into his belly where the shirt has moved up to expose skin, getting a choked moan in response, "I still have tons more food from the store if you're...still hungry."

Joe can't possibly still be hungry, but that's really not what Patrick means by the words, and they both know it. Joe's eyes flick back down to himself, and Patrick can't help but notice the face he makes, the way it's so obvious that he _really_ likes this, and that he's amazed that he does. Finally, Joe looks back up to Patrick and says, "Yeah. I think I'd like that. A lot."

Patrick decides right then and there, leading his wonderfully stuffed boyfriend into the kitchen for more, that he is the master of plans and he should really make them more often.


End file.
